


Working Progress

by megyal



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: M/M, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-12
Updated: 2010-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/smallfandomfest/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/smallfandomfest/"><strong>smallfandomfest</strong></a>, for the prompt <em>John's co-workers find out</em>; a couple OC's are present.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Working Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/smallfandomfest/profile)[**smallfandomfest**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/smallfandomfest/), for the prompt _John's co-workers find out_; a couple OC's are present.

"Yo, Grant, get over here a minute," Detective Foster called, staring across the small field on which other officers and children were milling about; their precinct was hosting some summer outreach shit that every available officer was ordered to go on. Foster opined vocally it was a fucking waste of time; however, the chief insisted it was good for public relations, so there was no choice.

"Yeah?" Grant ambled over, face shiny with sweat, his baseball cap tilted to the side. He had a turkey leg the size of his entire head in one hand; Foster made a face when Grant tore into it with his teeth. "What you want, man?'

Foster jerked his chin in the direction of where McClane was leaning almost fully against the tall fence, fingers curled into the chain links. He was talking to someone else on the other side, a young dude with lots of dark hair and very expressive hands. The dude was almost dancing in the spot, spastic movements of his body; while this should have annoyed McClane, the detective just shook his head, seemingly amused. Grant wrinkled his nose, and took another bite of turkey.

"Seriously, man, what you--"

"You don't realize anything shitty going on, man?" Foster spun around, agitated. His eyes were wide and his lips were pulled away from his teeth in a shocking snarl. "Open your fucking eyes, Grant!"

Grant _rolled_ his fucking eyes, and peered towards where McClane was nodding along to what that kid was saying. The young dude grabbed onto the links and stepped close, smiling widely. Grant had seen that guy before. Sometimes he came down to the precinct, dropping off lunch for McClane, or he picked up the detective from work. Grant had the idea that the kid was his relative or something, even though they didn't resemble each other. A nephew or cousin, maybe. Grant had tons of those fuckers around the place.

"I know what you're thinking, I know," Foster was saying, voice oddly venemous. Grant gave him a surprised glance; Foster didn't have the longest fuse in the precinct, that was for sure, but he was a good cop, dedicated to his job and slightly in awe of working within fifteen feet of John McClane. Everyone tried to be nonchalant about the whole thing, but seriously, John Kickass McClane was in the same office. Grant was pretty sure that Kickass was his middle name.

Shelley at the front desk said it was Michael, but Grant still preferred Kickass.

"But that ain't his son," Foster continued in a mutter. "You trust me on this one, Grant, that's not his son."

"Well, who is he, then?" Grant asked, getting annoyed. All he wanted to do was eat his turkey-leg, talk to a few kids about how they should keep away from drugs or else he would throw them in jail, and go home to his wife and some fried chicken.

Foster appeared as if he was swallowing a very large and bitter pill. "That's his... his boyfriend."

Grant nearly dropped the turkey-leg on the ground. "Get out, don't be telling no lies on _McClane_, son, that ain't _right_\--"

"You think I'd be lying about shit like that?" Foster managed to sound as if he was shrieking under his breath. "You think that's news that makes my _day_, Grant?"

Grant took a deep breath, and stared at McClane at the fence. Now, he looked; he _really_ looked at how McClane was smiling at the kid, that sardonic twist of the mouth that nearly everyone received, except for his pushy daughter (and how; Grant had been a cop for ten years and McClane's daughter was a little scary. Then again, she was _McClane's daughter_). However, McClane was giving that guy a softer version of his smile, and even though they were separated by the fence, they were standing very close.

The guy, dark hair flopping over his heavy eyebrows, grabbed McClane's fingers, tugging playfully and laughing until McClane laughed as well. Then, he stepped away, cocking gun-fingers at McClane before he walked off. McClane turned around and looked right at Grant and Foster. Grant tried to look innocent... wait, _he_ wasn't the one with the young boyfriend (_very_ young boyfriend), so _he_ didn't have to compose his face, did he? However, as McClane ambled over casually, Grant gnawed on the turkey-leg in apprehension.

"Here he comes," Foster muttered under his breath, as if Grant was fucking blind. Grant could feel the tension radiating from him.

"Be cool," Grant warned from behind from his hunk of avian. "Just be cool, Foster. Ain't nobody's business but--"

"What's up," McClane greeted them as he came close, heading towards the large orange cooler that had been placed on a wooden table. He pulled out a bottle of water, opened it to take a long drink before finally saying, "Grant, don't tell me you killed an ostrich for that fucking leg, it's huge."

Grant chuckled; if Foster would keep his trap shut, then maybe this would all just blow over. He didn't really support the whole gay thing, but his big sister's youngest son said he was gay, so Grant was trying really hard for their sake.

No such luck today. Grant should have expected that.

"Hey, McClane," Foster said in that jocular manner he used when they were grilling perps, "who's that dude? The one that was talking to you awhile ago, your son?"

McClane took another sip and raised his eyebrows. "You know my kid, Foster," he answered and there was a hardness in his eyes that belied the mild tone of his voice. "When he came up here two months ago. That's not him."

"Ohhhhh." Foster dragged out those two letters as far as they were willing to go and then some; he gave Grant a quick glance. _What did I tell you?_, his eyes broadcast.

_Let it go,_ Grant tried to send back, but Foster was on a roll.

"Your brother, then? Your nephew? What?"

"Are you asking me shit because you really want to know?" McClane asked, voice low and dangerous. Grant tried to remind Foster, by osmosis through air particles or something, that this was not a man to be messed with, faggot or not. Uh, homosexual. Whatever. "Or... because you already know and you just want to start shit?" McClane suddenly smiled real wide, as if that was the best news he' d heard all day. "Cause we can start shit, if you got that in mind."

Grant decided to open his mouth, if only to save Foster's life. "Doesn't matter to me, man," he rumbled gruffly, sending his elbow into Foster's side before he started squawking. "It's none of _my_ business, just as long as you do what you gotta do."

"That's right," McClane murmured in reply, even though his gaze was drilling holes in Foster's head. Funny how softly he spoke sometimes. "I do what I do, you do what you do, and we keep the city in one piece. Sounds good, Fos?"

Foster's mouth was pulled into an unhappy line; he stared at McClane as if the man had stolen his girlfriend, or something. Not that Foster's girlfriend was much of a steal, in Grant's humble opinion, but point. McClane fetched a heavy sigh.

"Look. Yeah, he is what you think he is. If you're gonna get your panties all in a bunch, then that's not my problem. I'm too old to worry about shit like that." He did look very tired, Grant noticed, and he suddenly wondered how he would feel if he found himself in that situation. Hadn't McClane been married? Then this was a very recent development; maybe something scrambled in his head when he had been dicking around with those geeks that brought down the entire country a few years ago. "If it's gonna be a huge problem, fine, whatever," McClane continued, staring off into the distance, "maybe I could as the captain to juggle around-"

"No!" Foster burst out, waving his hands around. Grant and McClane stared at him incredulously. "Don't. Just...." Foster shrugged helplessly. "I mean, you're _McClane_. You shouldn't be... like that. Why you gotta _be_ like that?"

McClane turned his head slowly. Dinosaurs evolved and were wiped out in the time it took for him to fix Foster with his steely stare.

"Like what, Fos?" he asked in the softest tone yet. Grant felt chilled; McClane had a tendency for stillness right before he cracked heads open. "This is me. Deal with it."

Foster's answering silence was unhappy, but at least it was _silent_. Grant stripped some more meat off his turkey-leg, and chewed slowly. Maybe he should try talking more to his nephew.

McClane rolled his shoulders and then jerked his chin at them, walking off without another word. Foster waited until he had rounded the corner to the parking lot. Then, he turned to Grant and opened his mouth.

"Shut up," Grant said tiredly, then tossed the remains of his hand-held meal into a nearby trashcan. "Just... shut up and deal, Fos."

Fos scowled... but he looked like he would try.

For that, at least, Grant was grateful.

_fin_


End file.
